Sterling (8 page)

“
I
t’ll be
a wonder if the master isn’t angry that we are late,” Scelpts said as we arrived at the fine townhouse a few blocks off the city center. She checked her timepiece, which she wore on a chain from her girdle, and clucked her tongue.

She needn’t have worried. The master, we learned from the butler who welcomed us through the servants’ entrance, was not in residence. The butler had worked for the master for some time, in one of his “other houses.” I wondered how many there were.

Orgin, the butler, showed me to my room. I would abide in the traditional maids’ quarters in the basement. My room, if one could call it that, was dark, cobwebby, and barely larger than a broom cupboard.

“We are on an economy,” Orgin informed me when he read the dismay on my face. “The master’s financial means are uncertain due to the war. That is why there are so few servants here.”

Orgin left me to settle myself. I put my reticule on the room’s only shelf. Two hooks hung empty on the wall, presumably for my nonexistent nightgown and spare dress. I had only the clothes I’d worn fleeing from Engashta and the boots Rachell had given me. I sighed.
What had I gotten myself into?

A lot of hard work, I discovered later as Scelpts and I toured the house with Orgin. The huge townhouse should not have been so lightly staffed, economy or no.

“Will all these rooms be in use?” Scelpts demanded.

Orgin faced us. “Only when the master comes here. But we must be ready for him at any time. His lifestyle is unpredictable. This house is not his primary residence.”

Scelpts sighed. “And we are to run this vast place with the current staff of four?”

Orgin nodded. “He hasn’t allocated funds for more.”

Despite the obvious hard work before me, I thanked Amassis for my good fortune in finding the position. One of Papa’s mages used to say that such fortuitous events were guided by magic’s unseen hands. Perhaps those forces had finally seen fit to assist me.

* * *

F
irst Scelpts set
me to cleaning all the bedchambers, five including the master’s. It took me two sennights to get through them, and each day stretched into an eternity of work. Scelpts was too harassed by her own burdensome duties to take much notice of my poor performance.

At night, in the quiet solitude of my underground room, I sobbed and sobbed, thinking of Papa while my back and legs and hands ached. I felt alone as I never had in my life. How could he be gone? Not Xander Ricknagel—he was too strong, too noble, too righteous! And he was
Papa
, the only person who had ever loved me.

I spent the first moments of every dark morning flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, believing I could not go on. I had no idea how to salvage Sterling Ricknagel’s future; little news about the outside world trickled through our busy household. Had Costas Galatien reclaimed Galantia? What of Province Ricknagel; who ruled there now? I had no answers to even the most basic questions, and without answers, I could not see a way into a safe future.

So I remained where I was, desperate, depressed, and downtrodden.

We were paid after the first two sennights. Orgin handed me three green jhass. I stared at the paltry coins, considering the labors I had endured. On this wage it would take me sidereals to save enough money to buy passage onward via coach, public or otherwise. And what would I do about my constant need for cosmetic? The bottle from Erich’s mistress was already half-empty. I tucked my coins into my pocket while my desperation mounted.
I was Lady Sterling Ricknagel, by the gods!
I owned a house twice this size in Shankar!

But I could not reveal myself.

The scrubbing, washing, sweeping, and hauling never seemed to end. Scelpts spent most of the hours working in different parts of the house, thank Amassis, for surely she’d see that I didn’t know what I was doing. It took me twice as long as it ought to prepare a bedchamber. I hadn’t dared touch the hearths, for cleaning them seemed too complicated and messy, and I hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

One morning we looked up from our tea to find Orgin racing through the kitchen door. “A guest is arriving this afternoon!”

Scelpts nearly dropped her teacup. “We aren’t ready for a guest!” She cast a reproving glance at me. “Sera hasn’t even begun on the hearths and flues—”

“Yet a guest we shall have, and I expect the master will not be long to follow,” Orgin said.

“Who’s coming?” Scelpts demanded.

“A woman,” Orgin replied. “I doubt she’ll bring her own people.” Scelpts and Orgin exchanged a knowing glance, but I did not understand.

“What kind of lady travels without servants?” I blurted. Upper class women went nowhere without their handmaidens. I should know. The only time I’d traveled without Serafina was to Engashta, and that was because of the war.

“The kind that isn’t a lady,” said Scelpts. “We’ll put her in the yellow bedroom. Run along, Sera, and get it ready.”

I made my perfunctory curtsey to the two head servants and hurried upstairs, where I put gold silk sheets on the yellow room’s bed, though I hadn’t mastered the trick of making the corners tight and smooth. Gold silk was expensive. Our master could not possibly be in much need of economizing if he could afford it.

Once I’d finished tidying the room, I went to the kitchen and filled the washing jug with fresh water. Scelpts was chopping vegetables for dinner.

“She’s arrived!” Orgin dashed into the kitchen. Scelpts untied her apron and smoothed down her dress. I followed suit. My poor grey dress did not look especially clean; I’d been wearing it every day under hard use.

We hustled upstairs to greet the guest. An expensive vehicle with custom paint pulled to the front of the house where we stood arrayed on the steps.

My stomach twisted in knots. What if the woman turned out to be someone I knew?

Her foot emerged from the carriage first, followed by her hand—a smooth, delicate appendage that reached for Cortis’s offered arm.

Her dress, layers of ephemeral silk that swirled around her body like mist, was the soft pink of a dim sunset. She’d painted on her entire face like a mask. Her eyes were drawn in with black, and her lashes looked unnaturally thick. Her hair was so pale that it hardly seemed real. She was clearly a courtesan.

“Welcome, my lady,” Orgin intoned with a formal bow. The courtesan brushed by him without a glance. She swept by us all, though to ignore us in this moment was exceptionally rude. I guessed she had little experience with household servants.

I stood at the end of the line, the lowest servant of the house. The woman froze before me, and for a terrorized moment I thought she must have recognized me. How? I had no knowledge of women of her stripe.
But what other reason would cause her to stare at me so?

“There is only one maid?” she queried.

Poor Orgin, flustered, replied, “Yes, my lady. That is Sera, our chambermaid. We are a small household.”

The woman tilted her nose in a fine imitation of my sister Stesichore. “But if there is only one, what am I to do for my handmaiden?” She turned her cool gaze upon Orgin.

“Sera will serve in both capacities,” Orgin said, casting me an apologetic look.

I wanted to fling my hands up and refuse such unfair duties, but I only nodded and curtsied.

I preceded the courtesan to the yellow bedroom. Cortis followed with a large trunk.

“Put it over there,” she commanded Cortis. “And you,” she gestured at me, “come here and help me remove my traveling shoes.”

She remained upright, forcing me to kneel like a supplicant to remove her boots.

“In my trunk you will find my slippers,” the woman said. I rummaged until I came across a pair of house slippers.

She said nothing as I slid them onto her dainty feet. Without being asked, I took the cloak from her shoulders and poured water for her.

She waved it away. “I’ll take wine.”

I hurried to the kitchen where Scelpts scrambled to finish the supper preparations.

She jumped when I entered, and seeing me, she began her tirade. “Of all the insulting things!” she exclaimed. “Arriving here alone and demanding we provide a handmaiden when we are so understaffed! And not even greeting us! What is she, one day out of the gutter?”

“She’s a courtesan,” I said. “She has no idea how to behave. She wants wine,” I added.

Scelpts threw up her hands. “In the middle of the afternoon? A lush, too?” Scelpts slammed the cellar door and disappeared. When she returned, she thrust a bottle in my direction, wax seal intact. I’d never actually opened a wine bottle before. I stared at it nervously, trying to recall what I’d seen servants do.

“Gods in Amaranth,” Scelpts said. “You’ve never even served wine? What kind of maid are you?”

My hands shook so much I nearly dropped the bottle.

Scelpts demonstrated the procedure and arranged a tray. “Gracious gods, child, if I’d known you knew so little I’d never have offered you this job.” She shoved the tray into my hands. “Doesn’t know how to make up a bed or clean a hearth. Doesn’t even know how to open a bottle of wine! And this is the girl who’s to serve two duties?” She shook her head.

I ran from the kitchen, not wishing to hear more.

Back in the yellow bedroom, the mistress drank her wine. She’d gone through half the bottle before she spoke to me again. “Do you know when he’ll arrive?” she asked.

“The master?” I replied.

“Yes.”

“We’ve had no word. Are you expecting him?”

“N—no. He does what he pleases. But I want you to tell me the moment you know he is coming.”

* * *

T
he courtesan slept nearly
fourteen hours, not rising until late morning the following day.

“Ugh,” she said as she pushed herself up in the bed. “I hate sleeping in my clothes. Is there a bath?”

I helped her undress, found her dressing gown, and led her to the bath chamber. Her face was a mess, all the careful painting ruined by sleep. I drew a bath—the house had good plumbing and hot water—and helped her into it.

“Oh,” she said. “How warm it is.” Her unreserved remark showed me that she had not lived long with the kind of wealth our master commanded, if hot water was a luxury.

She had bruises on her wrists, too many to be accidental.

“Your wrists,” I murmured in concern. “Shall I fetch a salve for them?”

She waved a hand. “No, leave them be.”

I could not fathom how the woman had come by such injuries.

She went out for the remaining hours of the morning and returned with packages, spending money that Orgin said the household didn’t have. Later she sat in the yellow bedroom’s window seat, gazing down on the quiet backstreet behind the townhouse. She’d fully painted her face again, and the mask-like cosmetics left her unreadable. “You don’t think he will come today, do you?” she asked me.

“The master? He has sent no word. I would think he would give us notice of his arrival.”

She turned. “I doubt he would. But let’s risk it, anyway. I want to shop, and then we shall see a show. Come.”

She stood up in a cascade of silk. Blue, green, and gold feathers made a swirling pattern down the skirt. The sleeveless bodice glittered with hundreds of tiny beads. According to Mama, only loose women wore no sleeves. I grabbed a Mirkian wool shawl and held it out to her silently.

She laughed. “Do you think anyone will care if I bare my shoulders on the streets of Avani?” To my relief, she took the cover and arranged it over her shoulders. “Most of the ladies here are like me,” she added. “They don’t care if I flaunt my body. It’s not like we’re in Engashta. My name is Alira. Come, let’s go. I hate sitting inside like an unopened present.”